


Per Ardua ad Astra

by ASongofIceandHope (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Never touch anything in Borgin and Burke’s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: After attempting to find out just what Draco is up to in Borgin and Burke’s the summer before their sixth year at Hogwarts, Hermione finds herself browsing the shelves of the shop, only to have Malfoy return. The two bicker over a mysterious time turner and find themselves thrown back into a time where the stakes have never been higher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is canon compliant until Book 6!
> 
> Also, this fic may not be continued. I’m throwing around a few AU ideas to try and have something to work on when I’m stuck on my other WIP Tomione fic, so be on the lookout for some of my other ideas.

“I’m looking for a gift for my, uh, friend Draco.”

If Hermione didn’t find herself cursed into oblivion, Ron and Harry owed her. They owed her so much. Because it was one thing for the three of them to crowd under Harry’s invisibility cloak and follow Draco Malfoy down Knockturn Alley. It was another to wander into Borgin and Burke’s and start inquiring after dark artifacts that might interest the little weasel. And considering plenty of people knew Hermione — especially after the horrid Skeeter woman’s reporting during fourth year — it took plenty of nerve to walk into a store frequented by Death Eaters. 

Not that Hermione was particularly focusing on all those details at once, but they were certainly in the back of her mind.

Mr. Borgin looked at her questioningly, as if he doubted she would ever be a friend of Draco Malfoy’s — an assumption that was surprisingly not too far from the truth. Still, never one to lose a potential customer, Borgin slowly made his way from behind the store counter and led Hermione over to a shelf filled with various knickknacks and whatnot. Something silver caught her eye in the back and while Hermione knew better than to touch anything in Borgin and Burke’s she reached for it. 

“Oh, and Borgin — Granger, what are you doing in here?” Draco scowled as he breezed back through the door. Hermione’s fingers had barely grazed the silver object on the shelf before she turned.

“A customer’s a customer, Mr. Malfoy,” Borgin chortled. “And it seems the young lady has found something of interest.”

“It just so happens I have,” Hermione sniffed. 

Draco glared down at her and Hermione reached for whatever the silver object was as soon as Borgin had shuffled off. Much to her surprise, it was a time turner. However it didn’t look quite like the time turner she’d been issued during her third year; the one she’d just found was silver instead of gold and lacked a chain. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to touch anything in this store?” Draco snarled at her before grabbing the time turner from her. “Of course they didn’t, filthy little mudblood.”

But Hermione didn’t even react to his abrasive use of the familiar slur. Her attention was firmly fixed to the silver time turner that had, apparently, started to smoke as soon as Draco touched it. Draco didn’t even notice until the two of them had been circled by the swirling grey smoke, which soon enveloped them. 

“What did you do to it?” Draco shouted at her as the smoke had begun to swirl around them violently like s tornado. 

“Nothing!” Hermione shouted back. 

The swirling vortex spun faster and faster, blurring their view of the outside world. But just as the cyclone seemed to reach top speed, it disappeared into thin air. Even though their feet had been planted firmly on the ground the entire time, both Hermione and Draco fell down as if they had been traveling by portkey. 

As Hermione surveyed their surroundings, everything seemed quite normal at first.

“Well that was the stupidest curse I have ever seen,” Draco huffed as he got to his feet and dusted off his dark robes. “It’s a time turner and we didn’t even go anywhere!” 

But Hermione wasn’t so sure they hadn’t. 

“Draco, follow me,” she stated, turning toward the door.

“What? Why—”

“Unless you want to explain to Borgin how you appeared in his shop without the bell ringing, do you have a better option?” Hermione snapped as she pivoted back toward him. Draco sulked slightly as he followed her out the door and down Knockturn Alley. As they walked, Hermione noted some startling differences. “Draco, was that shop open before?” she motioned toward a bookstore with a pentagram painted on its sign.

“Merlin no,” he replied. “That shop hasn’t been open since my grandfather was our age.”

Hermione broke out into a full sprint toward Diagon Alley.

Draco struggled to keep up, tripping once or twice over his robes, but when he finally caught up with her she was purchasing a copy of the Daily Prophet from a young boy who was clearly baffled by her muggle ensemble of jeans and a jumper. She held up the front page so Draco could see and when they read the date they both went pale.

23 August 1943

“1943?!” Draco exclaimed. “Bloody hell, Gran—”

“Shh,” Hermione dragged him away from the newspaper stand. “I’m shocked too, but we can’t draw any attention to herself.” Draco looked her up and down as if to say she’d already drawn attention to herself. “Fine. You’ve got a point.” With a little bit of work (and attempting to remember photos of her gran during the forties), Hermione transfigured her nineties clothes into more appropriate trousers and a summery blouse. “There. Better?”

“They’re still muggle clothes, but I guess,” Draco snarked. Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched the time turner from his hand. A chain had appeared, so she undid the clasp and put it around her neck. 

“Come on. We have to find someone who will help us.” While it was still illegal for her to apparate, Hermione understood the concept and pictured where she wanted to go.

The two disappeared and when they reappeared in Hermione’s chosen destination, Draco promptly emptied his stomach onto someone’s rose bushes. Hermione wrinkled her nose but focused her attention on the next house over. 

“Where are we?” Draco questioned.

“Godric’s Hollow.”

“Why?” 

“There’s only one person who could possibly help us in this sort of situation,” Hermione explained as she began to approach the unassuming little cottage she’d been focused on. 

“Please tell me we’re not going to ask—”

But it was too late for Draco to stop Hermione, as she had knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence before they both could hear footsteps on the other side. Slowly, the door opened and Draco cringed at the familiar, albeit younger, face that stared at them.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione exclaimed in relief. 

“I don’t know who you are or why you are here,” the professor in question began. “But you two have thirty seconds to explain yourselves and why you know who I am and where I live.”

“Well, professor, it’s a bit difficult to explain,” Hermione began. “But... we’re from the future. We got sent back to 1943 because of this.” She held the time turner out so Dumbledore could see it. “We were hoping you would recognize it and know how to send us back.” 

Dumbledore seemed to recognize the object responsible for their great leap through time.

“Where did you find that?” he questioned.

“In Borgin and Burke’s,” Hermione replied, a bit sheepish to admit where she had been. 

“Come inside, quickly,” he instructed. “I will help you both as well as I can, but I’m afraid that returning you to your time will prove rather impossible.”

“Why?” Draco frowned as he followed Hermione inside.

“Because, Mr... Malfoy, I presume? You look just like Abraxas,” Dumbledore assumed. Draco nodded in confirmation. “Because, Mr. Malfoy, that is no ordinary time turner. That is Salazar Slytherin’s time turner.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter explores a bit more of the realities of the AU; Hermione and Draco interact a bit and Dumbledore helps them out as needed.
> 
> This chapter is also a bit shorter than the usual 2-2.5k that I try to shoot for, but maybe this is a good thing? Shorter chapters will = more chapters? Let me know what you all think of the pacing right now.

Hermione felt comfortable in Dumbledore’s home despite the fact that he was looking at her and Draco with an extreme level of distrust. (A look that could have been the product of watching Hermione coerce Draco into stepping inside his house after the Slytherin initially refused to ask Dumbledore for help.) He was clearly not the same man she would come to know in the nineties, though she supposed there was plenty of reason for that. After all, it was 1943; Grindelwald was still out there terrorizing the continent while his muggle counterpart was doing the same. There was still a year until the Allies would begin to liberate muggle Europe and two years until Dumbledore’s famous duel with his old-friend-turned-enemy. Not to mention he had a future Dark Lord under his tutelage at Hogwarts.

“What are your names?” Dumbledore sat back in a wingback chair and looked back and forth between the two of them. 

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione provided. Draco followed her lead and gave his name as well.

She could tell immediately that he was surprised she was muggleborn. After he revealed to them the original owner of the time turner she, admittedly, was surprised too. Hermione imagined the time turner was charmed to send people back in time to aid one of Slytherin’s heirs, so she was confused as to why it would choose her.

It would make sense if the time turner chose Draco; his family has been in Slytherin for as long as anyone can remember and his family had a direct connection to Voldemort. 

So why did it want her thrust back in time too?

Somewhere behind her a tea kettle whistled, and with a flick of his wand Dumbledore summoned said kettle and a small afternoon tea spread. Hermione took a cucumber sandwich and nibbled on it absentmindedly as Dumbledore poured tea. As she noted that he preferred muggle oolong, a copy of the Daily Prophet caught her eye.

The paper was clearly about a week old, but as it was on the top of a stack of various books, magazines and papers it was clearly being reread. And when Hermione noted the headline, she understood why.

_MINISTRY REINSTATES TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT_

As Malfoy begrudgingly explained their situation to Dumbledore, she reached for the paper and began to read the article accompanying the alarming headline. 

_In an attempt to encourage and reinforce positive relationships with the wizarding communities on the continent, Minister for Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon and Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation Zineus Crouch announced Wednesday that the Triwizard Tournament would be reinstated._

_The Triwizard Tournament was cancelled indefinitely in 1792 due to a history of high death count and the injury of two judges. It historically represented the unity of the three largest wizarding schools in Europe: Beauxbatons Academy, Durmstrang Institute and Britain’s own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_“The Minister and I both see this tournament as an opportunity to reaffirm bonds that have been tested by Grindelwald’s presence on the continent,” Crouch said. “We are excited to see the Triwizard Tournament return to Europe.”_

_This year’s tournament will be hosted by Hogwarts — a decision that has raised some concerns from staff._

_Transfiguration Professor Albus Dumbledore cited recent issues at the school as cause for concern._

_“After the mysterious petrification and tragic death of a student last school year, it worries me to see a tournament with a notoriously high body count return to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said. “Of course, my fellow professors and I will be prepared to provide security to the students participating.”_

_The tournament’s reinstatement comes with a few rule changes. One of the major ones is a age restriction — no student under sixth year can enter their name into the Goblet of Fire._

The article went on with the new rules and regulations for the tournament so Hermione tossed it aside.

She looked up at Professor Dumbledore. Why had no one ever heard about the 1943 Triwizard Tournament? She had spent weeks researching old challenges during fourth year during Harry’s champion debacle and there hadn’t been a single mention of it. 

“... and you will have to change your surname, of course, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore was explaining. “It won’t do to have you try and pass yourself off as Abraxas’ long-lost brother or something else ridiculous.”

“Professor?” Hermione interrupted. 

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled slightly at her. “I was just discussing with Mr. Malfoy your arrangements for your time here. As it appears unlikely you will be returning to your own time in the near future, Mr. Malfoy and I have agreed it would be in both of your best interests to enroll at Hogwarts to start your sixth year.”

“That makes sense,” she said tentatively. “But... I wanted to ask you about the Triwizard Tournament. I’ve never heard of the tournament happening in 1943.”

Dumbledore rubbed his whiskered chin and seemed to ponder Hermione’s words for a moment while a charm made a spoon stir his tea for him. “Well, it would seem, Miss Granger, that in your timeline I must have succeeded in calling off the tournament. But Mr. Crouch has informed me that there is nothing I can say or do to deter him from holding the Triwizard Tournament this year.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Hermione exclaimed. “In the middle of a war...” she shook her head and glanced at Draco, who seemed to be considering something. It didn’t take much for Hermione to guess what he was thinking. “And it goes without saying that neither of us can put our names in the Goblet of Fire. We can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“Why not, Granger? It’s not like anyone will remember us—”

“But someone could,” she argued. “Besides, even though you’re comfortable around...” Hermione trailed off. She couldn’t say anything to Professor Dumbledore about Lord Voldemort. He would still be in school, if she remembered correctly, but what year he was in she didn’t know. And she knew Dumbledore was already weary of Tom Riddle — she didn’t need to give him any reason to fuel his suspicion and throw off the timeline. 

“Around what?” Draco sneered. 

“Just forget it,” Hermione muttered, making a note to speak to him later in private. She turned her attention back to Professor Dumbledore. “So professor, clearly we both need somewhere to stay until it’s time for us to go to school.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Dumbledore assured. 

*****

Hermione knocked firmly on the door two down from her own. She heard grumbling and the shuffling of heavy feet before Malfoy opened the door only to scowl at her. 

“Haven’t we seen enough of each other for one day, Granger?”

With a small huff, she pushed past him and sat down on his bed. It had been Aberforth’s in childhood. Hermione now occupied what had once been Professor Dumbledore’s childhood bedroom which was cozy and filled with some brass instruments not unlike the ones that would someday fill the headmaster’s office of Hogwarts. 

“We need to have a serious discussion about what our presence at Hogwarts will mean,” she stated as she picked at the quilt on the bed. She also noted that the mattress was a touch firmer than the one in Albus’s room. “Especially since You-Know-Who will be a student there.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco sighed. “That hadn’t even passed my mind. I wonder what the Dark Lord looked like at our age...”

“Well we’re going to find out,” Hermione said. “But you and I need to keep a fair amount of space between ourselves and Riddle. The less powerful we seem the less he’ll want to recruit us, and the more normal we seem the more we become forgettable. We can’t disturb the timeline—”

“But haven’t we disturbed the timeline simply by being here?” Draco raised a brow.

Hermione stood and paced toward the window. She could see the churchyard off in the distance; it was strange to think that someday her best friend’s mother and father would be laid to rest there. It occurred to her that, now that she was back in time, she could stop that from ever happening, but what would happen if she tried? Even if she stopped Tom Riddle from becoming what he was in her own time she couldn’t guarantee the safety of the Potters or anyone else whose lives had been destroyed because of him. After all, if Riddle put a stop to his twisted ambitions and became a typical twisted politician, who’s to say another wouldn’t take his place?

“That isn’t the point,” she finally argued. “The point is that even if we try to do something good or remarkable while we’re here that we could totally ruin our own time.”

“But our time doesn’t even exist yet!” Draco reminded. 

“That may be, but we can’t allow the timeline we know to occur to deviate any more than it already has,” Hermione retorted. “So that means no Triwizard Tournament, Draco.” He frowned deeply at her, but said nothing more as he climbed into bed. Taking such a move as a dismissal, Hermione crossed back over to the door.

“You know he’ll probably be the Hogwarts Champion, right?” Draco questioned just before she left the room. 

The stark reminder made Hermione realize why they’d never heard about the 1943 Triwizard Tournament. She said nothing in response to Draco’s question and instead made her way back to her room as an idea began to formulate in her head. 

It was mad. It was completely and utterly mad, and she’d already told Draco that they couldn’t meddle with the timeline anymore than their presence alone already did. 

But the Triwizard Tournament was dangerous. People died all the time. Bloody hell, when Harry was competing in it Draco had almost counted on Harry getting mortally wounded while competing. And while daring to rig the results of any sort of competition went against Hermione’s usual strict adherence to the rules, the opportunity was one she simply could have never imagined. 

Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort himself, would be the Hogwarts Champion.

And she was going to make sure he died in the Triwizard Tournament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hermione is taking a page out of Voldemort’s own book as far as using the Triwizard Tournament to get what she wants — will she realize she’s trudging down a fairly dark path?
> 
> And will she include Draco in her plan?
> 
> And will Tom even be the Hogwarts Champion?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter before we get to finally meet Tom... Draco and Hermione are getting their school shopping done, head to Hogwarts, and Hermione gets sorted...

A week into their stay in Godric’s Hollow, Hermione and Draco received their Hogwarts letters. Professor Dumbledore had spent the entire week leading up to the two receiving their letters forging documents and calling in favors long owed by people in the Ministry. In no time at all, both Hermione Granger and Draco Perrault — the name they all had agreed upon for him — were registered as Hogwarts students. 

They had also spent all that time rehearsing their backstories. As far as any students or professors at Hogwarts (or anyone really) was concerned, Draco and Hermione had been friends since childhood and had been homeschooled in France together before the continent fell into ruin. Their parents, worried for their safety, sent them to Hogwarts for the school year. At every meal the two drilled each other on the details of their stories, sometimes even going as far as trying to perform Legilimency on each other to test how well the other was hiding their memories of the future. 

Hermione was sitting in the window seat in her room, gazing out at the sleepy little village Professor Dumbledore called home and was thinking about her plan concerning Tom Riddle and just how stupid it was. Here she was, lecturing Draco about how he couldn’t draw attention to himself, yet she wanted to kill one of Hogwarts best and brightest? She would just have to hope that the tournament does a number on Riddle instead.

A knock at the door drew her from her thoughts and she stood, smoothing the skirt of the simple summer dress she was wearing. As Dumbledore has declared himself Draco and Hermione’s sponsor, he’d given them both a generous allowance and instructions to “blend in.”

“We’re going to head to Diagon Alley soon,” Draco told her rather stiffly.

Hermione frowned. Even though they’d been spending nearly every waking hour together and were going to have to pretend to be best friends once they reached Hogwarts, Draco still seemed to prefer keeping a fair distance between themselves. She knew that it was hard for anyone to change they way they viewed others, but Hermione had hoped that her kindness toward him would have changed some of that.

“Thank you, Draco,” she said. “I’ll grab my purse and I’ll be right down.” Hermione grabbed the aforementioned purse — a summery little straw bag with a V for Victory stitched in one corner — and headed downstairs where Dumbledore and Draco were waiting. 

The trio floo’d to Diagon Alley and Hermione felt immediately both at ease and on edge amongst the crowds of back-to-school shoppers. Her mind wandered to the fact that Tom Riddle could be among them, that he could walk right past her on the busy street and she wouldn’t really realize it. Because unlike Ginny and Harry, Hermione had never encountered Voldemort before his return; his diary — and therefore the memories of his younger self — had never fallen into her hands. 

“Come on, Granger,” Draco grunted as he made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts. Hermione stayed right on his heels, though she lamented the fact that she was wearing heels. She certainly missed the nineties and their more comfortable footwear.

The store was practically filled to the brim with Hogwarts students and their parents, as it usually was during back-to-school. Hermione and Draco both went straight to the task of gathering their school books. Even though they did not know exactly which houses they would be in once they reached school, Hermione and Draco were taking the same NEWT-level courses (after Dumbledore had given the Ministry “documentation” of their capabilities). 

When they both had gathered the cumbersome stack of books, the two made their way to the clerk to pay. As they did, Hermione noticed a book on the Triwizard Tournament that had to be out due to the tournament’s revival. She quickly picked it up and placed it on top of her stack of books. 

“What did you pick that up for?” Draco questioned.

“I’ll need something to read on the train,” Hermione shrugged. She quickly turned to the older witch who was waiting on her and gave her the appropriate coins to pay for her books. With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione then shrunk them and tucked them away in her purse. 

After completing the rest of their shopping, Hermione and Draco met Professor Dumbledore at the Leaky Cauldron. Much to their surprise, he was having a pint with a rather portly, red-faced fellow with reddish hair. 

“Oh, Horace,” Dumbledore placed one hand on Slughorn’s shoulder as he set down a pint of what looked suspiciously like the wizarding world’s version of Guinness with the other. “These are the two students from the continent that I’m sponsoring this year: Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Draco Perrault. A rather unusual arrangement, I know, but the board of governors has been so busy — so many students in need of sponsors — that I was more than happy to take these two on as my own. Hermione, Draco, this is our potions master, Professor Slughorn.”

Slughorn’s eyes twinkled slightly at the two and Hermione realized that Professor Slughorn would have taught them Potions in their own time during their sixth year.

“An honor, truly,” Slughorn stated. “Albus tells me you both have quite the talent for potions! That you, Miss Granger, successfully brewed Polyjuice potion as a second year! And that you, Mr. Perrault, can certainly hold your own.” He chuckled before taking a sip of his own drink. “We’ll see how you two fare compared to one of my house’s own; Tom is getting bored, I’m sure, without any competition, wouldn’t you agree, Albus?”

Hermione noticed how Dumbledore’s demeanor seemed to change almost instantly at the mere mention of Riddle.

“I’m sure a little competition will do Mr. Riddle some good,” he hummed. 

Before long, Dumbledore had finished his pint and the three of them bid Slughorn farewell. Hermione’s mind kept running with the idea that Dumbledore actually wanted her and Draco to give Tom Riddle a run for his money. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time; Hermione had always had the best marks in their year and she savored the thought that someone, finally, might challenge her. But at the same time, she worried about how Riddle would react to her daring to try and outdo him. Harry would have jumped at such a chance to potentially upset him, but Hermione was wary. 

She would just have to wait and see what the school year would bring.

*****

Hermione sat quietly opposite Draco in one of the last compartments on the Hogwarts Express. With every jolt of the car on the tracks, her eyes flitted upward from her book toward the door. Draco was getting tired of her nervous tics, but he understood why she was being so cautious. They’d survived a trip to Diagon Alley and had boarded the train without encountering a particular young Dark Lord. 

“Could you calm down?” he finally asked. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione frowned. “I just don’t want to be caught off guard if—”

“Granger, he doesn’t know who we are,” Draco reminded. 

“I know, but—”

“But nothing! It doesn’t mat—”

“I don’t want him to try and invade my mind and see that I thought about killing him!” Hermione shouted, effectively shutting Draco up for a moment. He sat back after staring at her for a while and rubbed his face tiredly. 

“What happened to not disturbing the timeline, Granger?” he teased.

“It’s that thought that prevented me from scheming about how to kill him,” she admitted bashfully. “While it would certainly be easy to rig the Triwizard Tournament to make him come into harm’s way, it’s just... there are too many uncontrolled variables.”

“Maybe, but how many people would have... done what they did... if Riddle hadn’t emboldened them?” 

Hermione could tell that Draco was thinking about his own family’s involvement with Voldemort. It was no secret that they had done horrible things in Voldemort’s name, but Hermione was surprised to see him show a touch of remorse for what he’d eventually become entangled in. 

“There might have been less, but still, Draco,” Hermione sighed. “Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time.”

Her reminder silenced him for the remainder of the ride. 

When they disembarked for the castle, Hermione was pleased that they didn’t have to ride in the boats like the first years and would be sorted before the traditional sorting began. There was something comforting to be back in Hogwarts robes; they hadn’t changed much by Hermione’s time so she felt like she was on her way to yet another feast with the Gryffindors. 

She walked in beside Draco, avoiding the curious gazes of the returning students as they stood in front of Professor Dumbledore. Headmaster Dippet was making some sort of speech explaining who they were, but Hermione simply blocked most of it out until her name was called. 

Sitting on the same stool she would perch herself upon in the nineties struck Hermione with a wave of nostalgia she wasn’t prepared for as the Sorting Hat began to contemplate just where to put her. 

_Hmm, very brave, but not a bad mind either. This certainly seems like a challenge..._ the hat mused.

‘Please, you’ve sorted me before, just put me in Gryffindor,’ Hermione thought.

_No, I don’t think we’ve met. But you do remind me of someone, and he’s done very well where he is... I think it’s time you finally came face to face..._

“Better be... Slytherin!” the hat declared. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she rose to her feet and walked toward the sea of green that was applauding her rather begrudgingly. 

The Sorting Hat had fed her straight to the snake pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hermione is certainly in a sticky situation! We’ll see how she handles it...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys so the big chapter is finally here! Hermione and Draco are going to meet Tom! There’s also a lot of setting the scene for the Triwizard Tournament in this chapter, btw.

Draco soon joined Hermione at the far end of the Slytherin table. They both tried to avoid the rather judgmental looks they were getting from their new classmates; with their rather muggle last names all the Slytherins were assuming they were muggleborn. It made Hermione rather cross at all of them, but what had she expected? They were Slytherins and it was 1943. Being tolerant wasn’t something they understood — not that they would understand such a concept in the nineties. Hermione simply ignored the curious looks and focused on the first years that were huddled toward the front of the room, waiting anxiously to be sorted. As Hermione surveyed the students seated at other tables, she noticed that many of the witches and wizards, much to her surprise, chose to style their hair in very typical muggle fashions of the 1940s. 

Once the first years had all been sorted into their houses, Headmaster Dippet rose to his feet once more and began to speak as a man who looked like a slightly less slimy version of Barty Crouch Sr. entered the Great Hall and stood off to the side.

“Well now that we’re all settled in and sorted,” Dippet began. “As I’m sure you all are aware, Hogwarts has been chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament. And part of our role as hosts of the tournament is welcoming the two other schools participating. So first, let me welcome the students of Beauxbatons Academy and their Headmaster Jacques Delacour.” 

Hermione perked up at the familiar name and she and Draco watched as a mix of boys and girls in light blue uniforms entered the Great Hall with a fair amount of grace and poise. Bringing up the rear was an aging man with light blond hair and fair eyes, not unlike his possible relative Fleur. Hermione exchanged glances with Draco before looking back up at Dippet who was getting ready to welcome Durmstrang. 

“And now allow me to introduce the proud students of Durmstrang and their High Master Alexei Olegovich!”

The display put on by the Durmstrang students was similar to the one they had done Hermione and Draco’s fourth year, but the student walking in in Viktor’s place looked strongly like Antonin Dolohov, which made Hermione feel slightly sick to her stomach. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Hermione took that as a sign that the young man was indeed Dolohov. 

Space was made for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students and the feast began. As soon as Hermione had filled her plate, a blonde girl around her own age turned and looked at her. 

“So you’re from France? You must know some of the Beauxbatons students,” she stated. 

Hermione shook her head. “I am from France, but I don’t know them,” she explained. “Dad and mum kept me home for schooling. Dad was a British muggle, you see, and mum was a French witch. We lived right next door to Draco and his parents in the little village we called home and between mum and Draco’s parents... well, they taught us enough that we passed our OWLs when we came here.”

“Oh, so you’re a half-blood?” Another girl inquired. “That’s not quite so terrible then. I’m Lucretia Black. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand for a shake, and Hermione took it. 

“Hermione Granger,” she returned. 

“And I’m Druella Rosier,” the blonde said, introducing herself. “We’re both sixth years so you’ll be rooming with us.” 

“Just the three of us?” Hermione inquired.

“Yes,” Lucretia replied. “There were two others but they got married this summer.”

“O-Oh,” Hermione swallowed, trying to hide the fact that she was shocked and disgusted by such a thing. Even Slytherins didn’t bother with such nonsense in their own time. “Good for them, I suppose.” 

“It’s more than good,” Druella told her. “One of them married Abraxas Malfoy. He was a seventh year last year; good name and he’s got a cozy job with the Ministry... plenty of girls would kill to have a husband like that.” 

“And who’s the catch of our year?” Hermione inquired. 

Druella and Lucretia exchanged glances and smirked slightly. “Well, there’s the usual bunch: Avery, Nott, Druella’s twin brother Marcus, and so on. But the real catch of our year is Tom; he’s our prefect and he’s brilliant,” Lucretia informed. “He’s a half-blood, like you. But his mother’s family is very old.” 

As soon as Lucretia finished her tale, Dippet rose to his feet. A jeweled casket that Hermione knew held the Goblet of Fire was carried out in front of him. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, remembering the last time she’d seen the Goblet Harry had been named co-Champion with Cedric Diggory. And she had wanted to doom Tom Riddle into sharing the same fate. Worse still, she would have been playing the role he’d instructed his sycophants to take on during that tournament. It made her cringe.

“Eternal glory,” Dippet hummed. “That is what awaits the student who wins the three challenging tasks that will lie ahead of them as a Triwizard Champion. But in support of impartiality, the professors and students of each school do not choose their own champion. That task is left... to the Goblet of Fire!”

With a wave of his wand, Dippet made the jeweled casket retract to reveal the stone goblet. It looked just the same as it did in the nineties, complete with mysterious blue flames spouting from it. 

“However, eternal glory does come with some rules,” Dippet continued. “The Ministry has decided that only sixth and seventh year students may put their names in the Goblet of Fire.”

A few protests flared up as they had in 1994.

“The Goblet will return the names of those most worthy to represent their schools on Hallowe’en. And, with that in mind, it’s about time for us all to settle down for bed! Prefects, lead the new students to your respective common rooms, and may you all have a good night’s rest!” Dippet exclaimed. Hermione and Draco both exchanged looks and rose to their feet. 

As they turned to follow the herd of new Slytherins, a rather smooth voice spoke behind them.

“Miss Granger? Mr. Perrault?”

It didn’t miss Hermione’s notice at how Draco seemed to tense ever so slightly at being addressed by said voice. They both turned around slowly to see just who had spoke them, though they both had a rather good hunch about who it was.

Standing a couple of feet away from them was a tall young man with wavy dark hair and sapphire blue eyes. His grey blazer — a difference in the boys’ uniforms of the 1940s when compared to those of the nineties — was buttoned at the top button, and his black school robe bore a green Prefect badge that shined just so. If Hermione didn’t know exactly who the handsome youth was, she wouldn’t have felt so cross at herself for gaping momentarily. 

“Yes?” Draco raised a brow, a bit of impatience showing through his mannerisms.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself,” the young man said. “My name is Tom Riddle. I’m Slytherin’s sixth year Prefect and captain of the Quidditch team. If you don’t mind, I thought I would personally walk the both of you to the common room? I imagine it feels embarrassing traveling amongst the first years.” Riddle smiled slightly, flashing perfectly white teeth that Hermione’s parents would have gone mad over. But the smile didn’t quite fit him; it seemed rehearsed, like he had learned it from mimicking actors in movies. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Hermione told him. “Please, lead the way.” Draco shot her a look, but she shrugged. “We certainly could easily get lost in such a place.”

Riddle flashed his rehearsed grin at her once more. “Yes, it is rather easy to get lost in the castle,” he agreed. “But I heard from the Headmaster that I’ll be having lots of classes with the both of you, so I can walk with you. And I also heard that your OWLs rival mine, Miss Granger.” Hermione raised a brow at him as she walked beside him. 

“And just what did you get on your OWLs, Mr. Riddle?” she inquired. 

“I got ten OWLs in all and nine Outstandings. One Exceeds Expectations,” he admitted. “I never really had a great knack for Herbology.” 

Hermione hummed to herself. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that Riddle wasn’t good at Herbology, since it did require some interest in keeping things alive. “Yes, well it would seem that our scores are very similar, then,” she mumbled. “Except that my Exceeds was in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Interesting. Well, Slytherin will certainly have you brushing up your skills, Miss Granger.”

Resisting the urge to glare at him, Hermione simply focused instead on following Tom wordlessly into the Slytherin common room. 

It was just as Hermione had imagined; the room was far more ornate and dark than the Gryffindor common room and seemed almost... pretentious. The overstuffed sofas and armchairs looked far less comfortable than the furniture in the Gryffindor common room, and Hermione felt like she wasn’t allowed to even sit on them despite the fact that she was now a Slytherin. 

Draco, on the other hand, was making himself right at home. Which, Hermione thought, wasn’t surprising considering Slytherin was home to him at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, he immediately made himself comfortable on one of the sofas and started making acquaintances, leaving Hermione standing beside Riddle.

“Do you plan to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” she inquired. 

Riddle considered her for a moment, as if he knew she wasn’t from his time. “Perhaps,” he answered. “I think eternal glory sounds rather... appealing, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “I think the world could do without more heroes or champions.” She met Riddle’s gaze and was pleased to see that he seemed to be struggling to get a read on her. “Besides, I don’t take you for the type that fancies himself a hero.”

A sharp, biting chuckle passed Riddle’s lips. 

“You speak as if you already know me,” he hummed. 

“I don’t know you, per se, but I know men like you.”

Riddle chuckled again.

“There aren’t many men like me, Miss Granger. You best remember that,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom’s already seeing Hermione as competition... that’s going to go well I’m sure ;)
> 
> Next up, Draco and Hermione deal with Tom the Student!
> 
> See you next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while; work has kind of caught up with me!

Hermione and Draco loathed Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And it wasn’t because he was an insufferable know-it-all (which he was) or because he was already showing signs of being a budding psychopath (he was). It was because he was undeniably perfect. Every single teacher had nothing but praise to bestow on him, and he accepted such praise with grace and dignity. The only member of the staff who seemed slightly suspicious of Riddle was Dumbledore, which made sense; Dumbledore had always wondered about Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets, after all. And the scandal would be fresh in people’s minds that year. Or at least Hermione had assumed as much. No one really talked about it. 

“We’re a week in and he’s about as demented as you, Granger,” Draco drawled to her as they sat opposite each other in the Room or Requirement. They had agreed on the train to meet there often, before curfew, in order to discuss Riddle and what he seemed to be up to. “Which is to say he seems like he couldn’t hurt a fly, but feels the need to assert his intellectual dominance over every person in the room. Including you, if I remember Potions correctly.”

Hermione’s blood boiled at the reminder. Their class had been in the middle of brewing very controlled amounts of Amortentia — a decision by Slughorn that Hermione vehemently opposed — when Riddle literally stopped what he was doing and corrected her stirring technique in the front of the class. 

“Honestly,” she huffed. “And like you’re one to talk! He showed you what’s what in that pick-up game of Quidditch, Malfoy!”

Draco’s face turned red. After the first day of classes, the sixth year Slytherins who would have made up that year’s Quidditch team — the Quidditch Cup had been cancelled due to the return of the Triwizard Tournament, as it had been in 1994 — organized a casual game on the school grounds. Riddle invited Draco to play with them and quickly made a fool of him. 

The other Slytherins made Draco play Keeper — something Draco shouldn’t have agreed to do in retrospect. Riddle proved to be an expert Chaser and had Draco flying hopelessly in circles trying to prevent him from scoring. 

It had been the one moment in which Hermione had actually enjoyed Tom Riddle.

“I went easy on him!” Draco defended. “It’s not like you have to sleep in the same room as him!”

“Yes, because sharing a dormitory with some Slytherin girls is so peaceful,” Hermione scowled. “Have you managed to learn anything about him? What he’s up to? What he’s been plotting?” She sat forward eagerly, hoping that Draco would have learned something useful by now.

But as she sat forward, Draco sat back. “There really is nothing out of the ordinary,” he admitted. “Save for the fact that I think the bloke could be a monk.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“What I mean is I don’t think he has any urges,” Draco replied. “Male urges, I mean. I don’t think he has any interest in.... shall we say, intimacy?” Hermione didn’t need to hear about such a suspicion, but she’d been wondering such things too, especially after the Amortentia lesson in Potions. 

Slughorn had instructed every student to pass by a finished version of the powerful love potion before they started brewing their own and share with the class what they had smelled. Riddle had claimed to smell absolutely nothing. Hermione has taken him for a liar almost immediately; no one, not even the most psychotic of murderers, could claim they didn’t smell anything when dealing with Amortentia. It simply wasn’t heard of. 

Though Hermione herself had proven to be a bit of a liar during that class.

When she’d stepped up to the cauldron, Hermione had expected to smell something similar to Ron. But instead of anything she would associate with him, the aroma of old books, leather and Yardley’s shaving soap wafted up to fill her nostrils. Slughorn requested she share what she’d smelled, and when she mentioned a clearly muggle shaving soap, Hermione noticed that Riddle’s face had darkened. 

“Draco?” she hummed, thinking about the expression on the future Dark Lord’s face. “Have you ever been in the lavatory when Riddle has shaved?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. “He shaves about every other day, same as me. Why?”

“What kind of shaving soap does he use?”

He shrugged. “I dunno,” he stated. “Some sort of muggle brand. Starts with a ‘Y,’ I believe.”

Hermione thought she was going to be sick. 

Old books. Like the ones in the library a particular someone could always be found perusing.

Leather. Like the Quidditch gear that same particular someone would have worn during matches.

Yardley’s shaving soap. Like the soap that same particular someone used to shave on a regular basis.

She couldn’t believe it.

Hermione Jean Granger, Muggleborn Extraordinaire, had smelled Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, when she had been asked to take a whiff of Amortentia. 

“Interesting,” was all she managed to say before she and Draco decided it was time to head back to their respective dormitories. 

But before they could do that, they both had to avoid being roped into a conversation with Riddle, Rosier and Nott. Draco was friendlier by far to the three young wizards, but he also was smart enough to keep his distance. However, it was difficult to avoid the trio as they often occupied the Slytherin common room well into the night. That night was no exception, much to Draco and Hermione’s disappointment.

“Ah! Perrault! Granger!” Marcus Rosier waved them over toward the two sofas they were occupying. “Come here!”

“Evening, gentlemen,” Draco greeted, putting up a well-trained facade. 

“Good evening,” Hermione echoed, though not nearly as exuberantly. 

“Say, boys,” Nott drawled. “Doesn’t Granger look particularly exceptional tonight?” He looked her over rather critically, and if they weren’t in the same house Hermione would have hexed him into next month. “Let me guess; did Druella finally get to put her magic to use on your uniform?” The sandy-haired youth looked to Riddle and Hermione found herself glaring at the back of Nott’s head. “Riddle, doesn’t Granger look just... scrumptious?”

Hermione tried her best not to shrink under his critical, uninterested gaze.

“I don’t see why I would ever consider Miss Granger much of anything, let alone ‘scrumptious,’ as you put it, Edmund,” he commented. 

Even though she couldn’t care less what Riddle thought of her, Hermione knew that the other Slytherins were expecting her to not take his comment lightly. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, her annoyance with him written across her face. “You really think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” she huffed. 

The sight of Riddle’s lips curling into an arrogant smirk made Hermione want to punch him the way she had Draco in Year Three. 

“I don’t ‘think’ I’m better than everyone else,” he purred. “I know. And the sooner you realize it, the better.” 

Draco noticed how Hermione’s hands dropped to her sides and were soon clenched into fists. Remembering how she had clocked him as he mocked Buckbeak’s untimely demise in their third year, he quickly grabbed her wrist and shot her a look before addressing Riddle himself.

“Well I’m sure she’ll figure that out,” he said. “Hermione has always been a quick study.”

“We’ll see about that,” Riddle stated.

Without another word, Hermione pivoted on her heel and walked briskly toward the sixth year girls’ dormitory. If Riddle had been anyone else, she would have let him have it. But she didn’t know him beyond the demented figure from her past and his future; for all she knew, he could be far more volatile as a young man.

But come Monday, Hermione soon learned that, as far as volatile went, no one was quite as dangerous as the Durmstrang Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dimitri Ivanov. 

Ivanov was to co-teach alongside Professor Merrythought — an apparent Triwizard tradition that hadn’t been repeated in Hermione and Draco’s time. And as they listened to the rather haggard professor, they began to realize why. He reminded Hermione strongly of Moody, but not the Moody she’d come to know after fourth year; Ivanov seemed more like Barty Crouch Jr. posing as Moody. 

“Now I know this class is much more concerned with the... intricacies of protecting you lot from Dark magic,” Ivanov began. “But it would help most of you out if you knew what some darker spells looked like.”

In the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Riddle perk up. But she too leaned forward as Ivanov pulled a small, shiny object from the folds of his robes. 

Upon closer inspection, Hermione realized it was a muggle marble.

“Can anyone tell me what this is?” Professor Ivanov questioned. The class all stared blankly up at him, save for Riddle, Hermione and Draco. “How about... you?” He pointed at Riddle. 

Hermione was quick to turn her attention to him. How Riddle reacted to being in the presence of some form of Dark magic — she hated to admit she didn’t actually know the answer — would tell her a lot about where Riddle was in the process of fully becoming the Dark Lord. Before he answered Ivanov’s question, he licked his lips in an almost nervous sort of way. 

“It’s a horcrux, sir,” Riddle answered confidently. 

“Very good,” Ivanov nodded. “A horcrux is any sort of object that one can turn into a... vessel, if you will. But before you start charming your quills in order to achieve immortality, you all must understand that making horcruxes is nasty, terrible business. One must commit one of the worst crimes known to wizardkind to even succeed, and the process of splitting one’s soul causes excruciating pain.”

The class broke out into a sea of murmurs and Hermione raised her hand.

“Sir, what exactly is the crime one must commit to create a horcrux?” she asked, even though she was already fairly certain she knew which one had to be done. 

Ivanov hesitated, his beady lilac eyes locked with hers. “In order to create a horcrux, an individual must commit murder. It can be accidental, it doesn’t even have to be with the Killing Curse, but another must die in order for a witch or wizard to split their soul and create a horcrux.” 

A chill ran down her spine.

As Ivanov continued to talk about some specifics of horcruxes, Hermione glanced at Riddle. To anyone who would have just happened to glance his way during the lesson, he would have seemed completely normal. But he was gripping his quill too tightly, and was drumming the fingers of his other hand on his thigh. 

Next to her, Draco was taking extremely detailed notes about how one would destroy a horcrux — a topic that almost seemed to make Riddle sweat. 

“Draco,” she whispered. “Did... Did You-Know-Who...?”

“Just one, that I know of,” he murmured back. “The... Diary.” Draco dropped his voice so low when he said Diary that Hermione was sure she had been the only one in the room to hear. 

Such news lifted Hermione’s spirits a little; Harry had destroyed the diary in the Chamber of Secrets, which meant, as far as they all knew, Voldemort didn’t have any more horcruxes. 

“Excuse me, sir.” 

Hermione and Draco looked at each other before looking at Riddle, who had politely raised his hand.

“Yes?” Ivanov raised a brow at him.

“I was wondering, and this is all purely hypothetical of course, but... is it possible for an individual to make more than one horcrux?” 

The room had gone so silent that one could’ve heard a pin drop. Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep herself from cursing. Of course! Riddle wasn’t so stupid that he would take a single item with his bloody name on it and use it as his only horcrux. He probably had hundreds, considering all the murders he’d committed. 

“It is possible, but... the side-effects can be frightening,” Ivanov explained. “I cannot say what would exactly happen as no one has ever made more than one, but even the process of making a single causes so much damage that I can’t imagine why anyone would wish to make more than one.” But the older man’s eyes twinkled in an almost mad way that Hermione figured he could imagine why. 

And the young man he’d just spoken to had more than enough reason to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hermione doesn’t trust their guest Professor. Is Ivanov just a bit kooky, or is there more to him than meets the eye?
> 
> Next up, Hermione attempts to confront her new rival.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, Dumbledore. Always the first man to consult when thrown through time.
> 
> Also, what’s the deal with Slytherin’s time turner? 
> 
> Let me know if y’all think this is worth continuing, please!!


End file.
